


Seeds

by TearoomSaloon



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 16:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13744527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TearoomSaloon/pseuds/TearoomSaloon
Summary: He had a routine and he liked to stick to it. She never complained, never badgered, but sometimes it was hard to focus on the now when all she wanted was for him to come back home.





	Seeds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ever-so-reylo (Ever_So_Reylo)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ever_So_Reylo/gifts).



It’s becoming increasingly more common, the intrusions. She accepts them now, doesn’t fight like she used to. At first it had been jarring, a shadow in her space, an unfamiliar body in her doorway, eyes leering at her half-sleeping form.

Things are different now.

She can admit she’s done the same, peeked from the darkness in his room when the bond connects, followed the shape of his shoulders, his neck as he moved through her dreams, her visions. They’re crossing over more frequently now, reality and imagination. Their bond keeps them tethered, and it’s something she clings to in the late nights when ghosts haunt her sleep.

"I thought you said you had somewhere to be tonight.”

The words come sleepily as she lies in bed, catching the outline of his frame from the hallway light. He’s not there—not really—but it’s good enough for them.

“I do.”

“But you’re here.”

“It’s a party. I don’t like parties.”

“I bet Hux loves your absence.”

He shrugs, the corners of his mouth twitching so softly, so subtly. “Lucky for him you keep me preoccupied.”

There’s a routine to this, simplicity to the banter. She rises from bed and follows him to the fresher. He likes to start the same way each time, a habit he’s developed since the first night.

 

 _“It’s nothing, I’m fine,_ ” she had protested, unable to lift her arms over her head. The massive gash across her back made movement near impossible, but gods, she was stubborn.

 _"It’s not nothing. Get under the water, don’t move your arms like that again_.” His words had been harsh, but his voice wavered, betraying the nerves and worry that sat deep in his bones.

He had joined her, stripped to his skin, gentle as he lathered soap through her hair. It was soothing, if not confusing. A mortal enemy—ally, other half, lover—stood before her naked frame. Desire hid somewhere behind his gaze, but his focus was trained to her comfort and security.

His Force apparition had parted soon after she was dry, the sensation of his fingertips lingering on her scalp.

 

Tonight is like the first night. She lets him deconstruct her, removing her layers to let them fall upon the cold floor. She isn’t to get kisses until far later, after this ritual of his. The water hot, she follows him under the stream, skin prickling from the sudden change in temperature.

She is malleable in his hands, bending when he touches, twisting with a slight tug at her waist. Her head rests against his chest for a few moments, overheating between the water and the warmth of his body. It’s nice though, the heat. It reminds her of the desert.

Some nights she wishes they could do things more spontaneously, but it’s difficult to break a creature of habit. He’d never listen if she were to suggest a change in their dance—it wasn’t in his nature.

She closes her eyes when his fingers comb across her scalp, lathering her hair into suds. The sensation causes her to feel a little off balance, a little lost. He stabilizes her with one hand on her hip when she sways, cautious as always.

Dipping her hair under the water, she helps him wash the soap out. She tries to raise up on her toes for a kiss, but he moves back, entranced in his routine.

“After.”

“Why not now?”

“Because it’s not time. After.”

Conditioner comes next and at least now she’s allowed to press against him, letting the ooze soak into her hair. He feels so broad behind her, his chest stretching to infinity, to some place she doesn’t exist, beyond the realm of her body. It never lasts as long as she likes and soon her eyes are open again, water rushing down her shoulders.

At least body wash is a quick step. He has every opportunity to take advantage of the act, but he never does. It isn’t until she is wrapped in towels that he acknowledges her shape or the sexual nature of the visit.

His lips are quick on her forehead before it starts. A reassuring peck, an opening to the night. Next is the collar, tough leather and dark. Durable. He clips a leash to its O-ring and rewards her patience with a biting, demanding kiss. She stumbles, off-balance, before he catches her and draws her closer. When she grows too needy for him, he draws back, keeping her at an arm’s length.

She’s not to talk on the leash and she follows when he exits the fresher, letting him lead her back to the bed. She likes it more than she admits to him, the lack of control. All she’s been in this life is independent and it feels freeing to relinquish that power every now and again. Especially for him, a lost boy so ravenous for any meager scrap of control. If there’s a way for her to make him feel whole again, more content and right with himself, she’ll give it.

With a guided tug, she settles back into her pillows, watching his hands as they unclip the leash and toss it to the rug.

His dark, dark eyes scan her. “How are you feeling tonight?”

“Cold.”

“Emotionally or—”

“Physically. It’s chilly in my room.”

With a roll of his eyes, he gathers the blankets kicked to the foot of the bed around his shoulders.

“Are you warm?”

“Extremely. My rooms aren’t somewhere currently experiencing winter.”

“You don’t have to have the blanket if it’s uncomfortable.”

“No, I insist. You asked and I will oblige.”

Satisfied, she raises her wrists to him, letting him strap them to the headboard. Sometimes their rooms bleed together—the toys are all his, but they appear in her nightstand drawer when he reaches for them, not to mention her furniture takes the shape of his, the headboard switching designs midway up its height. It’s fine if she doesn’t think too hard, doesn’t wonder what plane of existence her body occupies at the moment, or how the Force seems to bend reality around itself.

His favorite thing is light touches.

She hadn’t been expecting the first time they unceremoniously fell into bed together. It had been such an angry start, such a heated, bitter argument, culminating in an act that was softer than it was burning, gentle opposed to rough. His fingertips had traced her body light as a spring breeze trickling through flower petals. Her blood burbled like a brook after the frost in her ears, soft in tone but swelling as the ice melted, as the rush and flow began to rise.

His touch still startles her when he starts, nails curling down from the hollow of her throat to her breastbone, his breath cooling against her skin. Two kisses follow at the ends of her ribs, one for each side. He details her like a cartographer of old, back when calligraphy and fountain pens were common in the world of men. Each point on her body is a landmark, each imperfection something rich and unique.

The collar, though heavy around her neck, does not symbolize servitude. If anything, it is he who serves her, expending so much time and energy on her form and needs, rarely letting her give back in full. The meaning of her restraints is more possessive—she is something he must take care of if he wishes to keep her.

“Is this good for now?”

He has slunk down her body, her thighs over his shoulders, his arms locked around her hips.

She nods. “Yes.”

His mouth is hot against her, familiar. They’ve been meeting like this for so long he’s grown out of asking her what to do. Like clockwork, one of his hands slides down to meet his tongue after short precious minutes. She can’t reach to stroke his hair or push his face closer to her. It’s agonizing.

“Ben.”

He pauses for his name, lets her know he’s heard with a small kiss to her clit.

“Can I have one free hand? I want to—”

“No.” Another kiss. “Not tonight. I have to go back out there, have to look presentable.”

“Bullshit. You just showered.”

He lifts the covers with a smirk. His hair is dry. “ _You_ showered. I’m not here, remember?”

She knows. She remembers. It stings down her back when she thinks about it in the darker nights. Defeated, she sighs. “Okay.”

Sometimes it’s better when she can’t see him perform on her. Not because she doesn’t want to see—Force knows she craves a regular night with him where she can meet his dark brown gaze while they’re joined at the hips—but the sensation of not knowing. She’s torn, really. His tastes when it comes to sex are odd but thrilling, always holding a mystery for her to discover when she surrenders herself to him.

But she misses the comfort of the first few times, when she cried into his neck after they finished, sweat soaked through her hair. She had clung to him, told him how deep her love for him ran, how she could barely stand what was happening in the galaxy around them. In those hours alone, nothing existed beyond them two. She felt safe, comforted.

She still feels safe now, her lover making her toes curl and her back arch, but it’s a different sort of safe. Before, nothing could bring them harm because nothing outside their connection mattered. Now, she is safe because a tamed beast sleeps at her feet, defenses strong and fortified against the harshness of the outside world. She is safe because when her breath hitches, her mind goes blank for a very pleasant moment and her fears dissipate into dust. Anxiety of the future leaves her bones fertile to plant new seeds, ones of hope and promise. She swears she’ll tend to them better this time—she’s sworn that every time.

His lips run up one thigh and to her knee, soft but lingering. He wants more, but he’s hesitating. He’s never been one to ask and it catches her off guard.

“What’s wrong?”

“I want to leave bruises here, but I don’t have the time.”

Cover story. He says that every time. “Something’s bothering you.”

He rises from his knees and lets the blanket fall around his shoulders. He unbuckles her wrists before nesting beside her, draping the sheets across her goose-pebbled skin. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep up this act, this Supreme Leader business. More and more eyes burn holes in my skull every day. At Hux as well, but I’m not safe from the criticisms. One day I’ll snap, or someone else will. I’m strong, but I’m not omniscient. What if I don’t see it coming?”

She strokes back his hair, exposing more moles and ears. “What makes you think you wouldn’t?”

"I don’t know, it’s just a fear.”

“Maybe you should quit it. Run away, disappear.”

“Maybe. Where would I go?”

“With me. I’ll leave too.”

“Your friends—”

“—Will understand. They know I’ve been itching to chase after you for a long while now.”

He is quiet, thoughts manifesting in the bone arena of his skull. “I’ll think about it. But I do have to get back to the banquet soon or it'll seem suspicious.”

With a nod, she lets him detangle himself, her fingers lingering on his skin. “Will you come back when it’s over?”

“You’ll be asleep.”

“Please?”

He pauses to hide a small smile. “All right.”

“Be safe, Ben.”

“I will, I promise.”

He kisses her forehead before he disappears. The leather around her neck fades with him, leaving her in an uneventful bed, the sheets and covers pulled up to her chin. There’s a pit in her stomach she can’t shake, a nagging that won’t seem to stop dragging at her tissues in his absence. A small shove pushes the worry from her mind for the moment, lets her get some rest. It’ll come back, she knows. It’ll keep creeping back until they touch once again, skin to skin.


End file.
